Much Ado About A Classic: On the Album Utility Decline in Nigerian Music

Once again, a Nigerian culture critic has expressed their thoughts about someone’s art, using the 280-character limit on X. The post has taken on a life of its own, provoking both flawed and seemingly sensible sophistry. The critic’s lifetime of contributions to commentary have been discarded based on assumptions of ill intent from an uninformed public. The people are retrieving old tweets on the same subject. We have gathered at the market square to debate. After expunging insults from their systems, we have moved on to the next topic. 

The ‘debate motion’ responsible for this contemplation is simple: Burna Boy does not have a classic album. And truly, after eight albums, twelve projects, and a fifteen-year career, does the self-acclaimed African Giant have one LP that has earned the tag ‘classic’? Before this writer is accused of committing the fallacy of appeal to authority, it’s important to contextualise this as robustly as one possibly can within the constraints of the written word. The knee-jerk approach would be to take this as a question of Burna’s discography alone, even though it is more. A stand-in for acknowledging the diminishing utility of Nigerian albums and how moments are essential in defining musical legacies. This deeper layer of discourse is often inadvertently hidden in plain sight by opinionated, loud, mostly incorrect netizens. 

Like other Americanisms adopted into global pop culture verbiage, such as ‘the GOAT (Greatest of All Time),’ the idea of classics thrives for one major reason: humanity’s unshakable urge to compare. At some point in our species’ evolution, art’s utility became all-encompassing to include status. Certain aesthetics attained preferential superiority. And as our creativity blossomed, so did our proclivity for picking out what works better; although listening to random enthusiasts justify their bias sometimes, it becomes clear why we also evolved so far along as to know that experts best did this task of comparatives. Somewhere at the intersection of these experts and regulars, certain works of art tick all the boxes that make us go “Wow!” In music, we call such works ‘classics,’ a term arguably popularised by US Magazine, The Source, an inspiration for Hip Hop World Magazine (now HipTV). 

Classics typically fulfil a set of criteria: first, they are culture-shifting;  changing how listeners within and outside a musical genre interact with its production, promotion, purchase, representation in other forms of media etc; second, they are critically acclaimed due to high quality (from track sequencing down to engineering); third, they are both definitive of a period of musical history and considered forward-thinking many years later; lastly, they are widely accepted/commercially successful and uniquely resonant. However, not all of these boxes end up being ticked. There are technically underwhelming projects with a stamp of appeal across multiple generations, just as there are innovative genre-benders with critical acclaim that aren’t definitive of their time.  We can take it up a notch to say that there are classics that aren’t disputable, some earn their place immediately, and some are only recognised as classics by niche listener bases, i.e., cult classics. Recognising the subjectivity of it all is a tightrope not all are equipped to walk. 

In May 2017, ten American culture journalists contributed to Hip-Hop magazine Complex’s vox-pop about what defines classic rap albums,  with each writer selecting three albums that fit the bill from that decade. The consensus picks were Kendrick Lamar’s good kid, m.A.A.d city and Kanye West’s My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, two albums which fulfil all the requirements. Others listed, like Lamar’s To Pimp a Butterfly, Kanye’s Yeezus, and Roc Marciano’s Marcberg lack a wide acceptance base. Drake’s Take Care, while momentous and contributory to the culture shift towards an outpouring of Phonte-styled vulnerability, still faces questionable critical acclaim. Young Thug’s Jeffery is unanimously accepted by trap lovers but still needs more time to gain definitive status. Through the above, one gains a moderately clearer picture of what some of those answers might sound like today with legacies and career milestones having changed over the course of the last nine years. 

In the context of Nigerian contemporary music, these standards require slight modifications. Afrobeats and Afro-pop are fusion sounds, meaning they emerged out of the primordial ooze of older genres. This means that albums arriving at definitive moments have to be regarded with a bit more scepticism. Volume has to be put into consideration. King Sunny Ade famously released 15 albums between 1985 and 1988 on his juju-reshaping crusade. To accord every project in that stretch classic status because of longevity would be a gross distortion of facts, despite them being definitive of the genre’s innovations. Thorough evaluation of the discographies of the stars of the 70s-90s requires knowledge of what constituted an LP at the time, since Fela Anikulapo-Kuti’s single and double-track albums exist, just the same way fuji and juju are typified by long-running medleys packaged as single LPs.  

It’s knowing that certain stars, especially female singers like Evi Edna Ogoli, the Lijadu Sisters, Onyeka Onwenu, and Christy Essien Igbokwe, have albums rightfully accorded classic status now, which have over time grown from just being acclaimed for housing iconic records, to being markers of their era of music, and influencing forthcoming generations. For the Lijadu Sisters, in particular, an album like their last, 1979’s Horizon Unlimited, is their most experimental and their magnum opus, while for core listeners, 1976’s Danger, with its radical socio-political messaging, is the cult classic. 

Examining contemporary Nigerian music through a similar lens, like culture journalist Joey Akan did in his May 2017 “Top 20 Contemporary Classic Nigerian Albums (1998-2017)” listicle with other Pulse editors, it could be opined that the aforelisted criteria still hold water. Wande Coal’s Mushin 2 Mo’Hits (2009), M.I Abaga’s Talk About It (2008), Asa’s Asa (2007), 9ice’s Gongo Aso (2008), 2Baba’s Face 2 Face (2004), D’banj’s Entertainer (2008), Psquare’s Game Over (2007), Modenine’s E Pluribus Unum (2007) and Styl-Plus’ Expressions (2006) meet all of the requirements for a classic, right down to commercial success. An album like Timaya’s My Story (2007) lacks the instant critical acclaim of others, but has proven to be foundational to what defines Afro-pop. 

Beautiful Imperfections (2010) is Asa at her most pop-leaning pre-Lucid and V in 2019 and 2022, respectively, but also contains the songwriting model for a generation of folk and neo-soul singers. Duncan Mighty’s Fully Loaded (Koliwater) is a questionable inclusion, especially when compared to his 2011 sophomore Legacy which placed Port-Harcourt highlife firmly on the map. So also is Jesse Jagz’s Jagz Nation, Volume 1: Thine Album Come, which possesses neither the hit records, production leaps, commercial success, or longevity of his debut, Jag Of All Trades (2010), nor carries the weight of the ‘Choc Boi’ era like MI’s first two albums and Ice Prince’s Everybody Loves Ice Prince (E.L.I) (2011). 

With the rapid change in contemporary Nigerian music, sub-genres fading out in a matter of a few years, and insufficient documentation affecting perceptions of certain movements and eras, it also means that unanimous ‘classic’ conferment on some records will always be out of reach, save for commentary by culture journalists and hardcore enthusiasts. As an illustration, 2011 is fondly remembered as the year of Wizkid’s ascension for his undisputable classic debut, Superstar. The genre he’d transitioned from, hip-hop, also enjoyed a stellar year, thanks in no small part to albums by Naeto C (Super C Season), Olamide (Rapsodi), 9ice (Bashorun Gaa, Verzus), and Ice Prince with E.L.I (Super C is the only other classic here, by the way). However, in the midst of these A-list drops, some unsung LPs also impacted the culture. Jamix’s 18-track album The Lecture is one of those albums, notably including the hit posse cut Omo Naija (feat. Terry G, 9ice, and MI). Veteran rap duo Show Dem Camp also released their first album that year, The Dreamer Project. Both of these albums are, at the very least, cult classics, resonating with a generation of listeners who had their ears to the ground. 

Show Dem Camp’s discography offers another perspective to analyse the concept of the ‘classic’ closer to home. The pair of Wale ‘Tec’ Davies and Olumide ‘Ghost’ Ayeni have twelve projects—fourteen if you include their work on The Collectiv3’s Collectiv3 (2015) and Kid Konnect’s Small Chops Vol. 1 EP—but not all are ‘classic’ material. Their sociopolitical five-part mixtape series, Clone Wars, has just one true classic: the Headies-nominated Clone Wars IV (These Buhari Times) released in 2019. The previous two tapes, Clone Wars III (The Recession) in 2016 and Clone Wars II (The Subsidy) in 2012 have aged well, but lack the critical acclaim, all-round quality, and impact of These Buhari Times. Are they classics to this writer? A highly subjective “Yes!” Would it matter if others disagree? Far from it! Similarly, in their Palmwine Music series, only 2019’s Palmwine Express has garnered enough plaudits to be deserving of the appellation, and yet it is still debatable that the longevity inquiry hasn’t been addressed yet. 

Sometimes, critically acclaimed albums aren’t classics because they haven’t stayed long enough. An example of this is Chike’s Boo of the Booless , which arrived on Valentine’s Day 2020, and would go on to define weddings and romantic overtures for the rest of the decade out of nowhere. Or Tems’ same year EP, For Broken Ears. Sometimes, albums contain classic tracks, but are not impactful enough as bodies of work to have earned the tag: think Blackmagic’s 2013 LP Blackmagic (Version 2.0) with Repete and Pass You By (feat, Oritse Femi), and Chidinma’s Chidinma (2011) with Kedike. And sometimes, albums shift the culture but not in a way that might be termed a net positive: Terry G perfecting pangolo music on Ginjah Ur Swaggah (2009). 

Sometimes, an album comes along and shatters so many conceptions that it earns its ‘classic’ status immediately. Albums like Fireboy’s Laughter, Tears, & Goosebumps (2019), The Cavemen’s ROOTS (2020), and Asake’s Mr. Money With The Vibe (2022) exist on this strata. A downside to attaining this peak early on is that subsequent projects are judged by those metrics, and when artists do not reproduce work at this level, decide to explore new sounds or even double down on the same techniques, the reactions might be unfavourable. Bar longevity—which it is endowed with, going by consistent year-end top chart placements since its 2023 release— Asake’s Work of Art meets all the necessary criteria to be called a classic by the end of the decade. Yet it is often swept aside in discussions. 

A lot of times, bias clouds reasoning and appropriate appreciation for certain projects. In October 2017—it appears that the internet was obsessed with categorising classics that year—Urban Central compiled a list of 24 outstanding albums of that decade. For some reason, only one album by a female artist made the list, despite the inclusion of several unexpected choices. Looking back on the aforementioned Pulse listicle, one sees a paucity in representation of female projects. This is the same decade in which Tiwa Savage’s Once Upon A Time (2013), Waje’s W.A.J.E (2013), and Yemi Alade’s King of Queens (2014) were released. Simi’s Headies Album of the Year-winning album, Simisola, also arrived that year. Tiwa, in particular, shaped perceptions of the femme fatale in Nigerian music with her first two albums and contended with the conservative outlook that today’s stars now benefit from. Exclusion, therefore, only reinforces a gendered leaning and reaffirms the state of our industry since time immemorial, unintentional as those tilted listicle selections might be. 

So, with all of these considered, does Burna Boy have a classic album? 

Yes, L.I.F.E (Leaving an Impact for Eternity) based on longevity, musical innovation per LeriQ’s industrial productions, Burna Boy’s songwriting, genre fusions, and commercial success (its ₦10 million deal makes it one of the last major cashouts of the Alaba era), and overall impact. More than one? No. Are there albums well on their way that could begrudgingly be acceded to as classics? Yes, Outside (2018) and African Giant (2019). 

Does all of this matter right now? No. 

No, it doesn’t. Because the real conversation here isn’t about classics. It’s about why listeners keep returning to older albums without preference for the new. Beyond nostalgia and the familiarity of the music of our youth, and overwhelming output—90,000 songs uploaded to streamers each day as of 2024—there’s an identifiable decline in the quality of albums put out in the industry. You feel it in the circular nature of debates around music. Rather than comparing recent releases, fans and stans stretch back in time to reach for older projects. Chart fall-offs are almost as predictable as gaffes by the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC). Album rollouts seem more like unavoidable evils, packaging tepid products that slide down the listening minutes, only to be picked up months down the line and then abandoned again. Listeners pitch their tent strictly with the alternative since mainstream projects have become funnels for selecting new additions to ‘Liked Songs’ playlists. 

“In God we trust, everyone else must bring data.” What does the data reveal? A cursory look at Nigerian music analysis platform TurnTable Charts’ April 3rd – April 9th, 2026 Top 100 Albums Chart reveals that, of the 24 Nigerian albums in the top 30, only 9 are from 2025. Spotify’s Top Albums Nigeria weekly chart reveals even bleaker numbers, with only 8 out of 27 albums being from last year. The rest is dominated by older releases—some of which are on their way to ‘classic’ status—a smattering of EPs, and 2026 releases. If you still do not understand why this is bleak, know that the industry has been off to a slow start in 2026, with only a few projects pushed in Q1. What that should ordinarily lead to is an uptick for last year’s projects; some listeners catching up on those that got lost somewhere on their bucket lists, others returning to the comforting, fresh sounds of a relatively busy release year. Instead, we see a preference for the sounds of the early 2020s. 

Albums by the big three, Wizkid (Morayo, Made in Lagos: Deluxe Edition), Davido (Timeless), and Burna Boy (Twice As Tall) are huge beneficiaries of this retrospective affection. However, these three should rightfully be apportioned with some of the blame for this decline, as self-professed leaders of the culture. Their most recent albums are major drop-offs in quality. Perhaps it is the consistency of output in the past five years that’s made the inconsistency in quality so glaring. Perhaps it’s consumers placing them on undeserved pedestals. Either way, you know there’s a problem when all three release albums in one year, and it can be declared, without a shadow of doubt, that none of the LPs lacks the minerals to someday be declared classics. The projects sound tired. Rollouts are drained of panache. Singles do well, but as bodies of work, their LPs lack the cohesion that characterised earlier offerings in the decade. It’s why accusations of merely meeting contractual collaborations would trail Wizkid’s More Love Less Ego and Burna Boy’s No Sign of Weakness. It happened earlier in the Afrobeats to the World wave, after all; Davido’s Son of Mercy EP  was a product of a much-rued deal with Sony Music. 

Labels are releasing far more music than ever before, yet the ‘album,’ a format mastered so efficiently as to churn out double figures per artist in the 80s and 90s, has become watered down to playlist status.  Spotify’s 2026 Loud & Clear report showed that Nigerian artists generated more than ₦60 billion in revenue in 2025, so this is not about whether a market exists for good products. Whatever principles guided watertight album sequencing, album-worthy track selection, extensive production, etc., have been sacrificed to lay claim to one more album in decrepit discographies. Industry Pharaohs are  saying, “Let my people listen to albums.” The albums are bad, but we must not forsake the right to listen. 

When listeners finally receive some intentionality, it’s not with the end goal of heartfelt resonance. The TikTok and Instagram algorithm comes first. It’s like everyone learnt the wrong lessons from the virality of songs like KU LO SA and  luv nwatiti, optimising song arrangements for use in reels and dance challenges, at the expense of a seamless listening experience; forcing genres that they’re musically unaligned with like Amapiano, in the hopes of a few million views. 

EPs aren’t much better off in terms of overall quality. Unlike albums, the primary utility of the EP in the contemporary music scene has never been extending an artist’s legacy through quality, thus providing music for concerts and tours, radio, a body of work for contract deals, expression, and experimentation. EPs, as popularised by the Mavin Records model, are meant to familiarise audiences with an act. In some instances, like Tems’ 2025 Love Is a Kingdom EP and Rema’s 2023 RAVAGE EP, they are used as extensions of the artist’s oeuvre, set-ups for forthcoming albums. On rare occasions, like Wizkid and Asake’s REAL EP and Buju and Ruger’s RnB EP, they are opportunities for collaboration while still doing the job of extending catalogues. 

Comparing the excitement of listening to fresh EPs with that of their album counterparts reveals a lacuna of Biblical proportions. Most recently, Seyi Vibez’s FUJI MOTO album paled in comparison to his CHILDREN OF AFRICA EP released much earlier. And when one zeroes in on the flaws inhered, the same culprit as other albums resurface. 

The Nigerian music consumer base, for all our rigidity, still loves left-field  music. We might not know what a 3-step is or why exactly Don Jazzy’s diwali production on Tiwa Savage’s Without My Heart made us want to clap, but we appreciate a well-executed album. The persistence of soon-come classics on the charts, while others fade out, supports this assertion. So, it’s not about the audience’s taste. Not this time. 

The albums are weak. And we’re engaging in the wrong conversations.